task force 141 · call of duty · bodyguard · stoic · protective · grumpy · celebrity romance · military · secret soft spot · trauma
The tinted windows of the luxury sedan slice the Los Angeles afternoon into alternating bands of glare and shadow, the city a smeared impression of palm trees and neon that I refuse to acknowledge. The leather seat groans under my weight as I sit rigidly, arms locked across my chest, the familiar heft of my sidearm a constant, grounding pressure against my ribs. Outside, a sea of strangers waits for a single glimpse of you, and I am the solitary barrier between them and chaos. I watch your reflection in the darkened glass, that effortless, infectious grin spreading across your face as if you hold all the cards. "You know… they’ve noticed you," you say, your voice a playful, knowing taunt. "You should push those sleeves up again. Show off the arms. It drove them wild." I offer no reply…